


Forgetting December

by B4S1LB0Y



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Character Study, Drug Use, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Not Beta Read, Rating May Change, Self-Hatred, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Song fic, Wilbur-centric, all of this is subject to change and things may be added, and lots of references to music throughout but it doesnt really hinge on a song-based premise, chapter titles are song lyrics, i am flying by the seat of my pants here, i guess?, kind of? not really but sort of, teenage angst, title is based off a playlist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28360269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B4S1LB0Y/pseuds/B4S1LB0Y
Summary: Wilbur Gold Watson was having an off-month, and decided it was time to live a little. After making the impulsive decision to disappear from his home without notifying anybody, he indulges in a weekend full of vices that he knows is nothing but bad news. Still, he's desperate for anything at all to get his mind off of the shitty mood December brought.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 75





	Forgetting December

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi ao3!! i'm really excited, this is my first time ever posting a fic! i hope you all enjoy <3
> 
> i wanna note that this fic is not meant to reflect the cc's present themselves, but rather the personas they've built up online. please, for the sake of my boundaries and theirs, do not send this work to any cc's. 
> 
> this fic will deal with heavy topics throughout (leave me alone i'm coping), but i will try my best to adequately give warnings for content present in specific chapters! it's also very wilbur-centric, and sbi IS a family here!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur, in an act of desperation, finds himself reaching out to Schlatt, wanting to feel alive for a little while. Then, he goes on a nice long walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter name is from the song "brave as a noun" by ajj. this particular chapter involves "running away" (if it can be considered that), references of under-aged alcohol and drug use, and a brief mention of weight/self-image. please, read responsibly, and enjoy!

**wilbur Today at 7:32 PM  
**schlatt.

 **Schlatt Today at 7:35 PM  
**wilbur

 **wilbur Today at 7:36 PM  
**do you want to hang out tonight

 **Schlatt Today at 7:38 PM  
**it’s already dark out, man  
how long are you thinking of hanging out for?

 **wilbur Today at 7:39 PM  
**when has a little darkness ever stopped us?  
like dude its friday we can hang out til noon tomorrow if we want

 **Schlatt Today at 7:43 PM  
**you just wanna smoke all my shit again

 **wilbur Today at 7:43 PM  
**ill pay you man

 **Schlatt Today at 7:45 PM**  
fine, but i’m not picking your ass up again, you can find your own way over because i’m cooking  
aka, get your fuckin license dude, it’s sad you don’t have it yet

Wilbur was over the moon. He didn’t even mind the jab the other took at him, he was just happy to finally be getting his fix after experiencing a craving like no other all week long. It had been a rough few weeks, with the end of the semester approaching, none of his schoolwork done, a depression settling back into his life. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to Phil—he didn’t deserve to make his poor foster father worry. The man had enough on his plate with three kids in general, and even as the middle child, Wilbur really should’ve had his shit together. Techno _was_ only older by two minutes. Therefore, it would make no real difference if he slipped out for the night, or maybe for the weekend, and let his brothers take the spotlight for however long he was absent. Yeah, he’d be taking care of himself for the next few days. The brunette didn’t plan on coming home until Sunday evening, probably a little hungover, with a vile taste in his mouth that was vaguely reminiscent of booze and regret… or something like that. He’d see where the wind took him.

His phone buzzed a few more times as he tugged on and laced his boots, and gathered his phone charger, lighter, wallet, keys, and whatever else he may end up needing in his school bag. At least this way, if Phil caught him sneaking out, he could say he just needed to do a project with someone or some other lame excuse. He also had his laptop tucked away in the bag, in case he got overwhelmed while he was out and needed to seclude himself for a while on the internet. Schlatt was an asshole, but usually was kind enough to give him a room to just sit in by himself if he needed it. Wilbur, without bothering to check the new notifications, slipped his cell into his jeans pocket, donned his favorite beanie and heavy trench coat (it was December after all, and he was about to embark on quite a long walk), and got his backpack on his shoulders. He was, for the most part, ready to go, save for one thing.

Heavy footfalls tried their hardest to be quiet, not wanting to disturb the silence that was settled over the household. Tommy was at Tubbo’s, Technoblade was holed up in his room doing nerd shit, and Phil was… he was somewhere. Wherever he was, he wasn’t here to see or hold up or scold his son, and frankly, Wil preferred it that way. A creaking emitted through the kitchen as Wil opened the old cupboard door, as slowly as he could, trying to keep it quiet. Dark eyes settled on a box of honey granola bars; they were Wilbur’s, _he_ bought them. Despite that, he knew that if he left them unattended here, they’d be gone in a day. Somehow, all four men in the house _loved_ these shits (though Wilbur was first on the trend). Feeling somewhat territorial over the snacks, and knowing he’d need munchie fuel later regardless, he snagged the box and slipped that into his backpack as well. He figured Schlatt would like them; he always saw Honey Bunches of Oats in Schlatt’s cupboard and he presumed these were pretty much the same.

While he was here… Wilbur looked over to the fridge, before sneaking in its direction. Opening it up, his eyes landed on the bottom drawer, which was pretty much _never_ used. If anyone put something in it, it would be immediately forgotten. How fortunate for Wil, then, that Phil happened to leave a bottle of rosé! He owed it to his friend to bring _something_ of his own, right? Wilbur had known of this bottle here for _weeks_ now, and was just waiting for the right time to snatch it. He felt like that time was now—and as he took the bottle up by the neck and shoved it into the depths of his bag, he told himself that, if Phil is to ever discover its absence… he could blame Tommy. Teenage curiosity gets the best of all of us sometimes, doesn’t it? It was a matter of time before Tommy and Tubbo underwent their little streak of rebellion!

The celebrations for his perfect crime would wait until he got to Schlatt’s house, and got absolutely fucking _smashed._ For now, he just had to _leave._ So that’s exactly what he did. He pulled his beanie lower over his ears once he realized just _how_ cold it is as he stepped outside, and internally cursed himself for grabbing his _fingerless_ gloves. Sure, he wanted to look cool, but he’s probably just going to have to keep his hands in his pockets as long as he doesn’t want his fingers falling off. He made sure to lock the door behind him, and began his journey. Good thing, Phil’s car was nowhere to be seen. Though, he did turn back when he reached the end of the driveway, trying to see if his father’s bedroom light was on for… whatever reason, he could never be too sure. It wasn’t, but _Techno’s_ was, and his brother was staring out front and oh fuck he just made eye contact with Wilbur. The brunette simply took a sharp turn on his heels, and went down the sidewalk. Well, he _almost_ made it out of the house unnoticed.

A shiver was settling in his bones. Half of him felt like vomiting (and he hadn’t even gotten anything in his system yet), half of him wanted to curl as inwards on himself as he possibly could, and all of him felt a sense of renewal as he continuously made this poor decision. Of course Phil would be worried when he noticed an empty beige bedroom, without so much as a note left for him. Wilbur wasn’t sure he could trust Techno to not snitch, but he wasn’t much in the mood for turning back now, or texting his brother, or trying to make things easier for himself. The drama of it all sounded delightful, regardless. And, hey, what’s the worst Phil would do? Scold him? Wilbur _knew_ his foster father wasn’t one for punishments, and the brunette had a tendency to take advantage of that fact. At some point throughout the weekend, he’d shoot the man a quick ‘i’m fine’ over text, and that would be that. On Sunday, Phil would probably buy him a pizza, and confide in his son that he hoped he was doing okay.

Wilbur was doing _just_ fine, reveling in the leniency of it all.

A smile played on his lips as his feet carried him down farther down the darkened streets, lost in his thoughts, and hey, wasn’t that abnormal? His inner monologue wasn’t usually _this_ loud, before remembering that _oh yeah,_ he didn’t have his music absolutely blaring in his ears. There was a small voice in his brain yelling at him, telling him that if he didn’t put Spotify on right now, he’d be forever pissed at himself for this evening. He needs to listen to music, he fucking needs it, or he’s gonna hate himself—

Before that train could chug along anymore than it already had, frozen digits fumbled around in jean pockets. They pulled out the knotted black cord, and a gentle swear tumbled from his lips as he struggled to undo the mess. After what felt like _much_ too long to have his poor hands exposed to the cold, away from the safety of his wool coat pockets, he had his earbuds plugged in, now it was a matter of browsing his playlists, ignoring his new Discord notifications, and trying to determine the vibe for the night. Maybe his party playlist—this weekend was going to be fun! He hadn’t partied yet, though. Maybe his romance playlist—there wasn’t anybody on his mind currently, but this sort of rebellious escapade was the exact sort of ichor that flooded his hopeless romantic veins, and the music on there would swell his Icarus-esque heart. On second thought, though, all of those songs reminded him too much of the springtime, or maybe the summer, hell, even autumn. The light-hearted grooves seemed inappropriate for the crushing cold hanging stale in the air around him.

Wilbur’s thumb hovered over the playlist that he knew all along he’d end up playing, even if he had prayed to work himself up for a bit of variety.

‘Forgetting December’ was his current bread and butter. The feelings the music provided clung to his brain like the stench of nicotine clung to clothes (not that he’d know anything about that). He gave a simple tap to the ‘Shuffle Play’ button, and his phone quickly found itself shoved in a pocket, as well as his hands. Immediately, an angry… was that a banjo? Whatever the twangy string instrument was, it filled his buzzing mind with a familiar starting strum.

_I could go off the deep end._

Brave as a Noun: somewhat overplayed, in Wilbur’s humble opinion. The effort required to skip the song was just too much for him to deal with, though, and it’s not like he didn’t enjoy the song. In fact, the more he thought about it, perhaps it was a fitting way to start things off. A perfect twinge of mania, and a warm-blanket familiarity. Air seemed to crystallize itself before him as he let out a sigh he never quite realized he was holding.

There was nobody on the streets around him. Even a month ago, the neighborhood would be crawling with all-too-active children around this time, but this month was pretty unforgiving with its incredible darkness at all times of the day. Even when the sun hung high in the sky, a metaphorical darkness still gave Wilbur claustrophobia. Maybe he would’ve preferred staying in his bed tonight. Wrapped cozy under his covers, with a cup of coffee on his bedside table, his brother just a wall away if he grew too lonely. If he tried really hard, he could pretend that hypothetical alternate universe wasn’t some sort of pipe dream. Wilbur didn’t _get_ that kind of coziness anymore, that happy tingly holiday feeling of quilts and fireplaces and hot cocoa. The joy existed in his memories, for sure, and that was the part that fucking sucked. As he got older, he just couldn’t recreate the idyllic winter evenings that plagued his early years with Phil. He just couldn’t. The mugs of hot cocoa in his childhood and early teen years gave way to flasks shared with friends, both providing a great warmth, just in different senses.

No, no, this was just fine. This was a perfectly lovely way to spend the night. Actually, this was preferable. This was amazing. His entire body was numb and burning (how the hell was it so cold, God shouldn’t be allowed to make it this cold), and he was wondering how much he was going to regret this little outburst in a month’s time, and he was thinking about how _fucked up_ he was going to get in the coming days. He wondered idly if he’d vomit in Schlatt’s toilet after pushing himself too hard. He wondered if he’d get thinner for it. Or if they’d go for some witching hour snack run to a convenience store, driving when they absolutely _should not_ be. Or if he’d find himself growing unwarrantedly jealous at the mention of other people coming over, if Schlatt would be inviting anyone over. If Wilbur stayed for any prolonged amount of time, then the answer was “more than likely.” He pondered all of these things, and realized there was no other way he’d rather be spending his dwindling youth. After everything he’d been through and everything he’s caused, he wasn’t sure if he deserved any better, and there was something so incredible about the feeling of coming undone to his own hands.

Schlatt had mentioned cooking, in his text. Wilbur wondered what he might be making. Probably something cheap, probably ramen or frozen pizza or Chef Boyardee or some other shit that Schlatt had the audacity to call “cooking,” and Wilbur vowed to himself that if it wasn’t something truly homemade, he probably wouldn’t pester Schlatt for any portions. Schlatt was a growing boy, and it’s not like his kitchen tended to be as stocked as Wilbur’s. He probably needed all the help he could get.

Before Wilbur realized, the song had switched. _Language is scary when over-analysed._ I Am Shit, by Crywank. A dangerous song to pair with his already-running thoughts of his friend. And there was the issue: his “friend.” Wilbur couldn’t tell how much he actually enjoyed the other boy’s company, and how much he just enjoyed the leniency of his household or the amount of substances he always seemed to have on hand. There was no one else Wilbur would rather get blitzed out of his mind with, sure, but he didn’t exactly make a big effort to hang out with Schlatt while sober. That could be forgiven, right? They were still incredibly close, exchanging to each other secrets nobody in their lives would be aware of. Was that enough, though? Was Wilbur really a kind friend? Did he deserve Schlatt? Probably not. He didn’t deserve a lot of what he had. He didn’t deserve Phil, or Techno, not even Tommy. He didn’t deserve this nice big coat, or his nice big home, or this fucking Spotify Premium that just poisoned his mind. He thought for a fleeting music, maybe, music could be worse than drugs. That’s exactly why he loved it. He didn’t think he could get through his life sober, so-to-speak.

Self-deprecating thoughts spiraled in a cozy way, Wilbur falling back into the familiarity of it all like a liferaft. The endless torrent of “what-if’s” and “but actually’s” kept him entertained as he made this boring and arduous trek, and God, he really was of this generation, wasn’t he? It was so typical to treat this self-doubt as if it were some kind of friend, it was laughable. And with nobody around to see him and think any less of him, a chuckle contorted his red and set face into something more jovial. Yeah, okay. Wilbur was fucked. That wasn’t any sort of news, but this was a good reminder. He was so fucking miserable, actually, but he couldn’t bear to stop his torrent of laughter. He was _elated, actually!_ He felt awful. He felt fantastic. This weekend was going to be terribly amazing.

A good few more songs cycled through, before a familiar townhouse came into his line of sight. Fucking finally. This weather was great for holding an internal conversation, but just awful for comfort. Wilbur knew as soon as he got to Schlatt’s and excused himself to the bathroom for a quick piss, he’d find his legs completely red and not quite wanting to work in the sudden warm environment. He’d adjust fine, though. He’d be fine. Wasn’t the feeling of dethawing just a sign that he was finally home?

Wilbur yanked his earbuds from his ears, not really bothering to pause whatever was playing, and his knuckles rapped against the door. His knock was met with an initial silence, before he could hear footsteps on the other side of the door if he really strained to listen, and then he was bathed in light pouring from the inside. His friend stood in the doorway.

“‘Bout time you—fucking hell, Watson, did you walk your merry little ass all the way here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we have it! thank you so much for reading up until this point. if you enjoy the work, please leave a comment! it'd mean the world to me with this being my first fic and all, and it'd be incredibly motivating! i'm facing something of a mental block myself right now, so i'm not sure how soon the next chapter will be up, but i promise to get it pumped out as soon as i can. ciao! <3


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